


Old Cobblestones Red

by lechatnoir



Category: Marvel (Comics), Young Avengers
Genre: F/M, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 13:41:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lechatnoir/pseuds/lechatnoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a little AU/ after the entire incident with Mother; or, the beginnings of a family. </p>
<p>In which, they wander around Central Park and it's the old winter winds that slowly patch them up .</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Cobblestones Red

**Author's Note:**

> aah i've been wanting to take a little shot at this ever since the current Young Avengers run ended and well, here goes!
> 
> you can find me on tumblr under chrysanthemumskies !

i.

They stumble through the streets of New York and it’s 42nd street and the sight of Bryant Park that greet them, chilly air and fingers curling around each other to keep warm and it’s the blurred green that zooms past them that tells them that they’re not alone.

(Not really.)  
(After all, Tommy’s back.) 

He doesn’t question it, just knows that he’s tired, and that Teddy’s his main support system right now, which is why he’s leaning into him a bit too much even if he mutters a quiet ‘Sorry’ and closes his eyes for a split second, because the wind has to rush through his hair and his head feels like he got clobbered by a hammer and the sights and sounds of one busy street in Manhattan is enough to make it seem as if the world’s spinning. 

(Calm down.) 

He likes to think that maybe, somehow, with Teddy and Tommy, he could figure things out. 

Maybe he’ll be able to have some sort of normality, even if it’s just a inkling of it. 

Still, he hears Tommy yell something about macaroons and how he’s starving, so Billy could only roll his eyes and smile before tugging on Teddy’s arm and muttering – 

“C’mon. Knowing him, he’ll eat the entire stall of macaroons and then run off before paying and I’d like to not get into trouble the day after we managed to save the world from a multi-dimensional travelling parasite alien who was hell bent on destroying us all”   
ii.

It’s a bit odd, the fact that slowly the days blur into one mess and maybe it’s the pitter patter of the rain outside his window that’s distracting him, but lately he’s tried to keep away from everyone.

(It seems as if the nightmares won’t stop) 

His phone buzzes angrily from the corner of his bed, the screen lighting up as the text messages pile in one after another. 

( _Teddy._

_Kate._   
They were worried, of course. He wasn’t surprised. ) 

His phone settles down, and he goes over to the windowsill and watches the cars slowly zoom on by, watches the colors of the umbrellas of a city filled with people who had dreams and hopes and who were all sorts of independent spirits with too many personal stories to tell depending on who you spoke to on any given day. 

It’s quiet, and dark, and sometimes when he closes his eyes and tells himself to count to ten he’ll feel the quiet surge of power rush through him.   
(It’s quiet, faint. Barely a whisper. 

It’s something like the ice cold seeping into your veins on a cold winter day, when the sun shines down and it’s as if the sunbeams are made of pale crystals that glisten and shine in the corner of your eye. 

It’s odd, being called the demiurge. ) 

Sometimes he locks himself up and ignores everyone, and it seems as if that was the right thing to do, when he had little voices whispering that it’s his fault for making things fall apart. 

He’s about to curl up and sleep the day away when his phone buzzes again, this time a different name lighting up on its screen. 

_Tommy_

He’s about to pick it up when there’s a knock on the door and he doesn’t know who it is, but he can hear the impatient _tap tap tap_ of a foot against the floor and before he can turn the doorknob there’s one Thomas Shepard busting into his room, and before Billy could say anything Tommy tosses him his hat and scarf before telling him to hurry up and that he’ll see him downstairs.

(Sometimes, he thinks that despite the distance between them, they’re brothers after all. And maybe the cold air is just what he needs, to breathe a little life back into his worrisome bones) 

iii. 

They walk down the old streets filled with graffiti and cobblestones and the wind dances along with them. There’s a quiet air between them, but it’s not awkward, just comforting. 

(Like finding an old blanket that you used to love as a little kid) 

“You know, locking yourself up isn’t going to do anything , Billy.” 

Tommy says, before tugging on Billy’s sleeve and muttering ‘C’mon, let’s go to the park.’ 

And sure, it might sound childish, but Central park was a playground for them, with old winding paths and old trees that bent down to greet them, bare branches rustling in the cold wind that blew past them, old saxophone players standing in the archways of the stone bridges, and the old lakes that rustled on by as they walked past. 

Somehow, the old park worked its own bit of magic, and Billy seemed to feel calmer, even if just for a tiny bit. 

iv. 

They manage to make their way towards the old castle that overlooked one of the ponds and large rocks, something about a story of a princess and how she resided over the old place, stones made of red blood or something like that, but they don’t quite remember who told them that or if it was either true or something that they got mixed up, but it didn’t matter.   
It was the sight of the old trees that greeted them, and a even more familiar face that seemed to be as graceful as a cat and as warm as a lion.

It’s odd, but somehow he thinks Wanda maybe have been a princess a lifetime ago. 

(Or maybe, he was remembering that day when he had decided to sneak in and find her, and she had promptly kicked his sorry ass and all without breaking a sweat, either) 

Still, she doesn’t need to talk to understand – she knows how it is, when there’s magic flowing through you that seems to rise up like the ocean and drag you down. She knows, which is why she smiles at them both and pulls them close to her, and it’s the faint smell of cinnamon and honey that seem to make her whole and close and warm again, and she’s there with her boys, her doves , her ravens. 

“It’s okay.” 

Is all that she says to them both, and they let her hold them, like she did once not too long ago, when there was blood on the ground and life escaping the lungs of their friends, and the possibility of reality crumbling to pieces was possible as all hell, and she had held them, kept them grounded.   
She knows how it is, and he wishes she was there when the entire ordeal with Mother happened, if she could have helped, if only she could have helped. 

(Then maybe it wouldn’t keep him up at night, creep up on him and drench him in cold sweat, and even then it’s hard to breathe, even with Teddy holding him close, one hand on his back and the quiet murmur of “You’re okay. We’re okay. We’re alive. “ doesn’t help, doesn’t snap him out of it. ) 

v.

At some point they move away from the castle, and there’s a fond smile on Wanda’s lips, and while she knows they’re not too affectionate with her (there’s too much distance between them, lost time and all) they let her hold them close, one hand each on their shoulders as they walk together, step by step, stone by stone. 

Tommy thinks that maybe they should do this more often, the whole walking and talking thing. 

(He’ll even think about slowing down for a split second, just so that they wouldn’t have to waste their breath trying to catch up with him. He’ll do that then, try to slow down to appreciate the small shards of time they can build together with him.) 

Billy thinks that it’s good, it’s warm even though it’s the dead middle of December with the wind chilling his fingers but it’s okay because Wanda takes his hand into hers and sure, he might feel a bit silly that she’s hold his hand, but it’s warm and comforting. 

(She’s unknowingly an anchor to them both.) 

It’s enough, when the cold New York air rustles through Central Park, and they’re stumbling through the cobblestone paths, and it’s Wanda telling them about Belvedere Castle, the little castle with the beautiful view, that didn’t have much purpose other than to look pretty, but then the winds came rushing and the idea to use it for science and advancement in weather purposes came, and suddenly it was more than just a pretty face.

It was a start, perhaps.

(Maybe that’s why they liked the castle so much, old red stones and wind chills and all.) 

(It was the perfect place to slowly build a purpose on, to build a home. )

They’d walk through the archways of old stone bridges, and the sounds of winter would follow them through, but it’s a small start, for their little family, to build upon the red stones of old.


End file.
